


This Isn't My Diary, This Is Me Talking To Myself About A Certain Guy

by rustyHalo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyHalo/pseuds/rustyHalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mister, Mister!”</p><p>You look down and see a little boy pulling on your pants. You blink at him as he keeps tugging at your jeans and beckons you to come closer.</p><p>“What? What is it?” You kneel down on one knee so that he could tiptoe to your ear. You’re kind of edgy with doing this because, duh. Random kid. You in your black parka and cargo pants. In the playground.</p><p>Jeez, moms are looking at you already.</p><p>He cups both small, chubby hands around his lips and whispers in your ear.</p><p>“He likes you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Still The Same As When I Last Saw Him In The Third Grade

**Author's Note:**

> A new multichap because I am shit. I like ironically posting fanfiction. Such as a winter-based story in the middle of hot, harsh tropical summer. I am sorry for the horrible first chapter. I had the original in my phone but it got deleted because my brother set it to factory reset and now all my files are gone. So I tried to make up for what I lost.
> 
> Turned out horribly.
> 
> SONG RECOMMENDATION: Berlin by Snow Patrol makes a cameo in this chapter. It also gives me feels.

“Mister, Mister!”

You look down and see a little boy pulling on your pants. You blink at him as he keeps tugging at your jeans and beckons you to come closer.

“What? What is it?” You kneel down on one knee so that he could tiptoe to your ear. You’re kind of edgy with doing this because, duh. Random kid. You in your black parka and cargo pants. In the playground.

Jeez, moms are looking at you already.

He cups both small, chubby hands around his lips and whispers in your ear.

“He likes you.”

That startles you. You jerk back and look at the kid a bit suspiciously. “What, who?”

“Him! Him! He says he likes you!” The little boy is jumping up and down and pointing at something, someone. You make a shushing motion with your finger but he just doesn’t shut up. “He says he likes you even if you’re not a girl and you have cooties!”

You blush as an eight-year-old girl and her best friend pass by. They look at you and giggle, and you just push your hand against the boy’s mouth to quiet him. You squint into the distance and ask him again, “He? Who’s he?” You’re startled as you hear yourself repeat the pronoun. _He._

The little boy points at the same direction and even pulls you forward. You awkwardly stumble on your own feet and let him drag you to where he actually is pointing. 

“That’s him!”

The blonde hair, red leather jacket and black aviators stand out against the white snow. The dude-man is sitting on a swing, being pushed by a girl about the little boy’s age. You two watch a few feet off as the man shouts, “Faster! Faster!” The little girl just giggles and keeps pushing him stronger, faster.

Familiar. That’s what he is.

The little boy pulls you nearer, closer to them. Your eyebrows are now all Angry Birds-like with the effort it’s taking you to try and stick this guy into any picture.

As you approach some more without him noticing, his voice rings again and again in your head. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know him, you just can’t place your finger on any of the names.

The little girl sees the two of you come closer. She stops pushing and covers her mouth with both hands, eyes dancing with life, giggling behind her interlocked fingers. 

“What? Why’d ya stop?”

The freckles pull the name out of your lips.

“Dave?”

He turns to the direction of your voice and raises an eyebrow in question. Then, when the sight of you registers in his mind, he stands up.

“Oh. John. Hi.”

He remembers you. And you remember him, too! He used to be this coolkid back in elementary. You were in the same class as he in the third grade, along with Rose and a bunch of other friends. He was really popular even though personally you think he’s pretty lame and he didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces.

Also, he kissed you under the mistletoe after that Christmas party in the third grade.

“Hi. Oh my god, you’re here!”

Dave Strider nods slowly, and the little boy beside you runs off and reunites with his whatever. He and the little girl look at each other and laugh. They’ve been laughing so much, you swear you have never seen happier children.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“He likes you! He likes you,” the boy chants again, a bit too cheerily and now you’re starting to become annoyed. The girl giggles and they high-five each other.

Dave turns quickly to the boy and whispers something along the lines of “I thought that was a secret” or something. You’re not sure. You only caught snippets. The boy acts like he doesn’t care though.

You’re surprised he still remembers you, you know. It’s been, what, ten or something years ago. And wait, is that a Southern accent?

Your old school friend (if you guys were even friends) trudges to you in the cold, unforgiving snow. If you remember correctly, he moved away after third grade. And with that accent reminding you, it was probably somewhere down in Texas. Where they don’t have snow. And he’s freezing here. Back in Seattle. You can see him visibly shaking.

He puts a hand out to shake.

“Welcome back!” You grin and your glasses are frosting up with slush and ice. “What brings you here?”

“Well, I’m—“

The little girl kicks his shin and Dave grunts. It hurt because he loses his balance and the little boy pushes him forward. They both run off to the other side of the playground, escaping their crime. There’s snow on your face, in your glasses…everywhere.

“I know where you live!” Dave shouts at your ear.

“Ow,” you say weakly,

He glances at you before realizing how awkward the position is. After clearing off the flurry of snow, you find out that Dave is actually pressed against you, hands using your shoulders as support. You have him caught in your arms, going around his really slim waist, and you wonder if he’s been doing any eating where he’s from.

“Oh. Wow sorry,” he pushes off of you. The loss of warmth is a bit depressing, because any kind of heat is totally welcome in this cold weather.

You chuckle, patting off snow from the front of your parka. “It’s fine, nothing broken.”

“Those are douchebag kids.”

“How are you, Dave Strider?”

He flinches at the use of his whole name and looks at you. “Oh, me…? I’m. I’m good.”

“Since when did you move back from wherever you’re from? And is that…a Southern accent I hear?”

Dave holds a mittened hand in your face. “Before I answer any of those questions, would you mind if we move this to the nearest coffee shop? I am freezing my goddamned ass off here. I’ll treat you to hot chocolate.”

You shudder as a cold wind passes between you two. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Sure as in, ‘Sure I mind’ or sure as in, ‘Okay let’s have hot chocolate’?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Okay, let’s have hot chocolate.”

“Okay, good.” He walks forward and you just stare at his moving figure.

It’s funny that you’ve agreed to go have free hot chocolate with a guy you almost never talked to back in elementary. Elementary, for Bejebus’ sake! That was eleven years ago! He’s almost qualified as a stranger in the social books. But yeah you’re going to have warm drinks with this guy.

“You comin’, or are you waiting for me to hold your hand or something.”

Flushed at getting caught staring at the back of his head, you look down and notice his shoes.

Laces still untied.

He moves forward again when you say, “Wait, wait!” He freezes and you catch up to him.

You kneel down and grab hold of his shoelaces. Murmuring under your breath, you chant, “The dragon goes under the bridge, through the loop and into the castle.” You look up and grin a bit lopsidedly.

Dave stares at you, and when he comes to, boops your nose.

“You are now and forever a nerd, Egbert. Get up, my ass is getting frostbitten.”

You just laugh and have him pull your wrist towards the exit of the park.

 

You’re situated in probably the most comfortable easy chair you have ever been on. The coffee shop Dave took you to is in your town’s plaza, so it’s pretty much near everywhere. You didn’t even know this place existed and you’ve been living here pretty much your entire life. Meanwhile, Dave here hasn’t been anywhere near the state in more than a decade, moved back probably around yesterday you guess and knows more about Seattle’s hotspots than you.

The place has a home-like feel, with wooden panels for walls and an actual fireplace in the middle of the room. The calming music oozes out of speakers from every corner of the coffee shop, and you recognize it as Berlin by Snow Patrol.

Hehe. Snow Patrol. You glance at the glass window right beside you and watch as snow gently drifts onto the ground, as if it weren’t a violent cloud of ice out there a while ago. You’re actually feeling sleepy now, but Dave sets a huge mug of chocolate topped with whipped cream in front of you.

“Drink up,” he says as he buries his face in his own cup. You pick yours up with both hands and warm your chilled fingers on it as you take a sip. Wow, that’s delicious!

“So, John Egbert,” your companion mumbles as he sets his mug on the table. You look up and he has whipped cream all over his face. You decide to not point it out because personal reasons. “How have you been?”

That seems to be the signal for Catching Up With The Egberts. You put your cup between your legs.

“Well, nothing but good. Graduated high school two years ago. But you already know that since I guess you’re in the same year as I was.”

He nods and chugs more chocolate. You tell him how your dad is still doing businessman duties and going all Dad-like and busy but still has the time to bake all those goddamn cakes every moment he’s at home. Dave just smirks and points out that that was the exact same thing he did back then. He would know. Dad made you bring shittons of pastries in school. Dave was one of those happy takers, though you really have no idea why.

You throw back the same question at him. “How about you, though, Dave? You were the one who went away. How have you been?”

Dave wipes his mouth behind his hand and tells you that he moved to Texas ever since _it_ happened. His older brother has been doing well with the company. He’s even on an international level now. Since he accumulated enough money and workers to get the job done, his brother decided to take a short break and help him go back to Seattle. Dirk (you remember his brother’s name, blurting rudely, “Derf—Dirk! Dirk right?”) is now paying for his education, his apartment and almost everything. He moved back to Seattle around a week ago. Dave tells you he wants to get a job but the old coot doesn’t want him to.

“Bro said, ‘Hey, we gots enough money to make you repeat college for an entire lifetime. You don’t worry about this shit yet, ‘kay? I’m the adult.’”

“And you’re not an adult yourself…?” You point out.

“My sentiments exactly. Glad you’re on my side, man.”

You exchange a few more stories, him asking about Rose and the rest of your gang, and you asking about his social life back in Texas and if his moving back here jeopardizes anything back there. While you’re talking about all this though, and even joking about it, you can’t help remembering what _it_ exactly was.

Back in the third grade, a few weeks away from summer vacation, Dave was called to the principal’s office. You were in Music class back then, same class as him, so you know the teacher called him out and sent him there. He came back with a missing pair of shades and tears running down his face. The teacher asked him if he wanted to be excused from class, but he sits back on the violinists’ row and tells Ms. Romero to continue.

You find out later, during lunch break, what actually happened.

Dian and Dean Strider, mother and father to Dirk and Dave Strider, were architect and interior design experts on a business trip in Dallas for the week. Aside from being industrial, commercial and residential building experts, they had an increasingly popular company for building supplies.

They died from a freak accident involving galvanized aluminum roofing in a factory.

“…so you know, it’s not a big deal if I don’t ever talk to anyone back in Texas. Hey.”

Your brows are furrowed but you can barely hear Dave calling your name through concentration waves coming out of your temples. Your memory shifts to an earlier setting, a weather similar to today’s.

Everyone is out of the classroom. Dave was one of the room cleaners, but everyone was too excited and left early for Christmas break. Today was the last day before the holiday break, also the day of the class Christmas party. You lug your bagful of new Christmas loot on your back when you notice Dave’s still wiping a particularly huge “Merry New Year!” off the board. You decide to hang back and help him clean his stuff up.

He hears you shuffle back in and looks back just as he cleans the last of the chalk on the board. You two exchange a few words, small talk for small kids.

The next thing you know, he’s pointing up above you.

_“Mistletoe.”_

And he kisses you.

“Egbert. Hey, you listenin’?”

Dave taps your knee and snaps his fingers at your face. You zone back in and almost choke on the hot chocolate you’re still drinking.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I’m sorry, I just—“

Your phone beeps and you fish it out of your pocket. Shit it’s almost seven! You glug the remaining contents of your mug and set it down on the table.

“Dave, I’m sorry, I need to go! Dad’s probably on his way home now and I need to be there for dinner!”

Dave gets up with you and zips up his own jacket. “No big. I have to go, too. Finish some unpacking.”

You two walk to the door and he holds it open for you. 

“Ladies first.”

“Douchebag,” you punch his arm. “Bye!”

He faces right and hesitantly takes a step. You’re already two steps away opposite him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back.

“D—What—?”

Dave has you near him, as close as you both were when he lost his balance back in the playground.

He’s pointing up above you.

You look up.

“Mistletoe.”

And he kisses you.


	2. It's Not A Twist Of Fate, It's A Damned Nightmare And I Hate It (I Think)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aw, crap!"
> 
> You pick up the fork you dropped on the living room carpet and wipe it off your napkin. Getting up off your couch is such a laborious task, and you don't want to risk losing the most comfortable seat in the house.
> 
> Dad made you a shitton of mac and cheese, and you're not complaining. You have no plans for Christmas break anyway aside from stay home, eat, sleep and repeat.
> 
> Fate disagrees with that, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY UPDATE PARTY I UPDATED TWICE TODAY CAN I GET SNAPS HOLLA
> 
> This is also the 400 view anniversary of this fanfic. Thank you, you guys are the best. This is the first chapter and it's been three days, but really? 400 views? Fantastic!
> 
> (Promstuck is in 14 days I'm going to cry)

"Aw, crap!"

You pick up the fork you dropped on the living room carpet and wipe it off your napkin. Getting up off your couch is such a laborious task, and you don't want to risk losing the most comfortable seat in the house.

Dad made you a shitton of mac and cheese, and you're not complaining. You have no plans for Christmas break anyway aside from stay home, eat, sleep and repeat.

Fate disagrees with that, though.

"Hello? 'Scuses," the voice accompanying the knock on the door shouts above the howling wind. You don't get up, because you're a lazy butt.

The knocking becomes persistent. "Help, my car broke down and there's a fucking snowstorm out here!"

You grumble and force yourself up. You're not even a superhero but it seems like someone is in danger, and humanity must live blahblahblah. You're too lazy to even remember the line.

With your fluffy bunny slippers, hand-knitted sweater and wool jammies, you unlock the door and yawn, ready to pretend to be a helpful suburb teen.

Your jaw drops and you slam the door, actually.

"Y-ello? Open up!" The muffled voice makes it through the door.

"No! Go away!"

"I would if my car wasn't in a snowbank, please fucking let me in!"

You mull it over, your back to the door and eyes on the ceiling. The angel and devil battle it out hiphop style on your shoulders, and however much you want to hide behind the Christmas tree, the good prevails and oh fuck just open the door John.

Through gritted teeth, you say, "Oh, fine, come in."

So that's what the fork on the floor meant.

He comes in and you shut the door quickly. Wow, that really _is_ a snowstorm!

You turn around and find Dave Strider in your place on the couch, and he almost feels the bowl of mac and cheese up.

"Don't touch that."

"Sorry."

"Why did you come here?"

"I didn't know anything."

"Yeah, right, like you didn't know I still lived here!"

"My car just broke down in this moat you have for a yard! I haven't been here in over ten years, John, Christ!"

He shudders and you sulk and sink into the armchair of your dad.

Oh my gosh, Dad!

He reminded you over a million times not to let strangers-slash-people-he-doesn't-know-or-remember inside the house. And now here's Dave, very much opposing that exact reminder.

"Dad's so going to kill me..."

Dave sits up. "What, why."

"I'm not allowed to have people like you in the house!"

"What people like me? Coolkids? Yeah, I know where he's comin' from, I might blow the roof off this place."

You roll your eyes. "Gee, shut up! You shou—"

The phone rings and, once again, you lazily get up to answer it.

"Hello?"

_"John?"_

"Dad! Uh, hi!"

_"Hey, son. Are you doing fine alone at home?"_

"Yeah, Dad! I'm doing fine _alone_." You shoot Dave a glare. "Why are you calling?"

_"Sorry, John, I don't think I'll be home tomorrow like I told you."_

"What? Why? Did something happen? Dad, are you okay?"

Dave turns to you and mouths, _What happened?_

You shush him as you listen to your father's explanation.

_"I'm at the airport right now. We ended early so I headed out here as soon as I can but they've cancelled all flights to Washington."_

"It's because of the snowstorm, isn't it?"

_"Yes, and the only time they would let anyone fly is when everything has died down."_

"But Dad! This could last for a week! Christmas is in a few days!"

_"I know, son. I'm sorry."_

You frown and bite your bottom lip. It's not that you're dependent on his being here to get by everyday. It's just that being alone at home isn't the reason you decided to visit and stay in for the holidays.

_"John?"_

"Dad?"

_"I have to go now. Take care of yourself, alright? Stay safe."_

"Yes, Dad."

_"I love you, son."_

Dad ends the call.

"So..." Dave starts once more, but you're not in the mood to hear it.

"Shut it," you mutter, and pick up your bowl and fork.

"Why are you even mad at me? ...is it because I kissed you?"

You pause for a second, but continue moving and enter the kitchen. "It's not that."

Dave follows you and leans against the door frame. "It's _exactly_ that, isn't it? You should've fucking told me earlier, John. We—We exchanged numbers! You could've texted me, at least. I'm so sorry."

You open the door of the fridge and stow the bowl in beside the five other containers of mac and cheese.

"Hey, dude. Sorry," he says and stands behind you. "I know it was uncalled for—"

"Why did you do it?"

You shut the door and grip the handle, keeping your back to him. You don't want him to see how flushed your face is while you think about what happened. And not just that one from outside the coffee shop.

Admit it. You've always wondered why he kissed you back when you were, what, eight? You never let it go.

Dave straightens up and stuffs a hand into his pocket. "Well, I don't... I don't know. It sorta was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

You turn around and laugh coldly, and you never even thought you could sound this dark, or why you're getting so worked up by this.

"So I guess you do it to everyone, huh? Like, just get up and kiss someone from your old class and say it was a spur-of-the-moment thing?" You push him from the door and go back to the living room. You hit the remote's power button and pretend to lose yourself in the news.

"Actually," Dave replies from somewhere behind the couch. "You're...the only person I've ever kissed."

The formal, detached voice of the news anchor almost drowns the quiet, low tone of Dave's confession, but you heard it plain and clear, as if the TV was shut off or muted. You act as if you didn't, though.

_"And now, the status on Sea—"_

The electricity gets cut off. The TV switches off, the lights die and the house goes dark. Not because of the lights, though, but because something _huge_ covers the windows and you panic.

"John?" Dave calls out behind you.

"I'm here, I'm here," you gasp out as you shudder and get up off the couch. He probably hears your rustling, because you start walking around and hit the table.

"Ow."

"Egbert, you okay? Where are you?"

"Yeah, I just can't... Can't see. Let me get to the, the door."

"Careful," he reminds you.

Finally, you get a hold of the door and twist the door knob. Readying yourself for the cold, you actually did not expect worse.

"Oh my God. Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think you will be able to get home."

He pads around slowly, and you hear him push the armchair. "Why?"

"There's... There's a seven-foot-high wall of snow at my door."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, guideline: Here in the Philippines, it's superstition that if you drop a utensil, a visitor is coming. Specifically, if you drop a spoon, you'll have a girl visitor over. If you drop the fork, there's a guy coming to bug ya out. So yeah.
> 
> Headcanon in this particular fic: John is scared of the dark.


	3. I Might Burn The House Down With All These Candles, And The Fire Place Is Manually Lit, Plus We Need To Get Warmer Without The Heater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This one's blocked, too."
> 
> You're starting to lose hope. You two have been checking out the other exits of the house, taking the second floor windows into the tall but if it's not blocked it's too dangerous.
> 
> Dave and you snooped around in the kitchen cupboards for candles, and struck gold when you found the drawer stacked full of the wax thingies. You led him around the house to help criticize the exits, planting one candle-in-a-ramen-cup wherever you left.
> 
> "Let's just leave it for today," Dave taps you on the shoulder and lights the way back downstairs to the living room.
> 
> "Wait," you tell him and make him light the way into your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for a very long time of being dead. I'm having trouble writing as of the moment, what with summer ending and all. I have college coming very soon, and what omg I'm a freshman again this is all so sudden. I am moving to my dorm this 8th of June so good luck to me on that, and also this is a compensatory chapter for not updating A Surprising Development of Sorts. I'm writing the next chapter already. A little patience would be perfect, please. I love you all.
> 
> (Also shout out to all those e/R shippers from the Les Mis fandom because I am in love with this ship. As hard as I ship JohnDave. Yes. Hi. Vive la Republique!)
> 
> SONG RECOMMENDATION: Vienna by The Fray. I had a rough time deciding which song from them I should suggest for you guys, so you might as well listen to How To Save A Life, Look After You, She Is, Cable Car, Turn Me On... Everything, perhaps. The Fray is totes fucking balls.

"This one's blocked, too."

You're starting to lose hope. You two have been checking out the other exits of the house, taking the second floor windows into the tall but if it's not blocked it's too dangerous.

Dave and you snooped around in the kitchen cupboards for candles, and struck gold when you found the drawer stacked full of the wax thingies. You led him around the house to help criticize the exits, planting one candle-in-a-ramen-cup wherever you left.

"Let's just leave it for today," Dave taps you on the shoulder and lights the way back downstairs to the living room.

"Wait," you tell him and make him light the way into your room.

You fish out your phone from under your pillow and put it in your pocket. You also grab the pillow and your quilt, and shut the door.

"Nice room, dork," he snickers, as if you're friends again all of the sudden.

You mean all of _a_ sudden.

"I'm still mad at you," you grumble as he leads the way to the couch downstairs. You crash on the soft seat and he shifts awkwardly in front of you until he sets the candle on the floor and makes do with the carpets.

Dave just ponders his weird whatevers there, but though you have a fucking comforter wrapped around yourself, he hears your teeth clack and chatter. You think you bump something because you keep shuddering and you find out it's Dave's head.

He looks up at you. "Still cold?"

"No."

"Damn it, Egbert, I can hear you teeth throwing me beats and I can pull out some sick fires already if you asked me to."

"I'm fine."

Dave sighs. "Jesus Christ on a fucking broomstick, I know you're mad but you don't need to let this temperature drop lower than the economy with your cold fucking shoulder."

You ignore him, obviously, and somehow he pulls out a few sheets of paper out of his numerous pockets. Then he crawls over to the fire place with the papers and the candle and lights up the papers. He throws them into the few pieces of logs in there and crawls back near you. The warmth hits you instantly and you're a little guilty that you're making the whole homestuck incident worse.

Dave isn't even trying to make out with anything of it, and you're making it seem like a big federal issue or something.

Wait, you mean he isn't trying to make anything out of it. Jeez. The cold is freezing your brain off.

That's okay. You could say that that's the reason behind you sliding off the seat and sharing your blanket with him.

You lean against the couch and feel Dave's right leg against yours.

"Thanks," he mumbles. He probably thinks you didn't hear it, but you two are pressed together close enough to have each other hear your breathing.

"You know you have to leave the moment the snow lets up, right?" You remind him.

"Yeah, I know."

Silence accompanies the crackles of the fire, and your feet are cold beside Dave's socks. He's tapping a beat on the floor (and you think it's a song from The Fray), and you watch those long fingers ghost over the carpet, as if he knows it was a more complex instrument of some sort.

"Do you still draw?"

He stops tapping and looks at you. "Huh?"

"Your comic. Do you still draw?"

You remember it faintly, back when Dave came over for this group project in the second grade. Rose and Karkat and Jade and Sollux were there, too. But it was around five in the afternoon, and Sollux and Rose had curfews, so they went home early. Jade was going to sleep over, her being your cousin and stuff, and somehow Karkat had absolute curfew freedom.

Jade went to the loo then. Karkat, you really don't remember. But Dave was sitting beside you, and you couldn't help noticing the large sketchpad he had under the table.

_"What's that?"_ You point to the doodled page he had on his lap.

He starts and quickly shuts the sketchpad. _"Uh, nothing."_

_"That's not nothing,"_ you say and open it to the same page.

Second-grade Dave grumbles. _"It's a comic. My older brother draws shit like this."_

You made a face at the curse he uttered, and how does a second grader learn these words?

_"I'm trying to be like him."_

_"Oh, so he's your role model?"_

_"Yeah, but don't tell him that."_ He continues drawing.

You run a finger across the page and feel every indent and thick shading. It seems really embarrassing now when you remember that all you replied was, _"Keep it up!"_

"Yeah, I still draw," he tells you in real time.

"Well... Have you gotten better?" You ask, and damn, small talk is hard.

Dave ambiguously nods. "You could say that."

Trying a smile on, you turn to him and say, "You should show me the next time we meet."

For old time's sake. That's why you smiled. You used to be friends (although barely due to him being famous in school and always having some kind of posse surrounding him), and you were actually being a jerk by taking that for granted just a few minutes ago.

"I'm not exactly sure," he blurts out once you face the fire once more.

You're confused and you try to remember what you said before that. Then, when you do, you try to link that to what Dave said. It confuses you a bit, because that's not exactly the answer you had in mind.

Dave probably sees your confusion, and follows his statement up. "The reason why I kissed you. I'm not exactly sure why I did that."

You glance at him and his shades reflect two of you. You're also not sure how to answer him.

"...okay," you get out.

"But I remember having done that before. You probably don't remember third grade, but at the Christmas party—"

"I remember. You kissed me back then, under the mistletoe, too. After we stayed behind to clean up the classroom."

He turns red and nods. He wiggles his toes awkwardly, and is about to speak when your phone rings.

He closes his mouth promptly, then opens it. "You better take that," Dave says instead.

You look at the caller ID and nod. "I'd really rather not," you show him the screen.

"But it's Karkat."

"I know."

His brows furrow. "Why, 're ya mad at him?"

"Not really? I just don't want it to be all awkward and stuff."

Your phone is still ringing and Dave stares at it. "Awkward? What, why?"

The ringtone stops blaring and you almost sigh out of relief, but it just rings again and it's still him.

"Well... I just broke up with him."


End file.
